


What Lola Wants

by tersa (alix)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Porn, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Vega was not an ME3 love interest, and after the wonderful flirtatious banter given to us...that was a shame.</p><p>A collection of connected 'situation fics' I've written and may continue to write in one particular imagined story arc of a Female Shepard/James Vega romance, both within the game and beyond. Each 'chapter' is it's own short story and organized chronologically (rather than 'order written') and may be re-ordered as new stories are written. Mostly R (for sexual content and language) but there is a few NC-17-flavored chapters included.</p><p>Contains spoilers up through the end of ME3 and a deviation from the 'canon' ending.</p><p>(Last updated 6/4/2012: Chapter 11, "Comfort Food" drabble)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matching tattoos

**Author's Note:**

> Although it may not be necessary to know upfront, the Shepard in this series is based on an ME1 / ME2 'plain Jane' default, an Earthborn/Sole Survivor vanguard with a Morality ambiguous personality.
> 
> Title is a riff of the song "Whatever Lola Wants" from the 1955 musical "Damn Yankees"

All the hero worship James might have had for Shepard when Admiral Anderson had dragged him off Omega and back to Earth had worn off once he’d been gang-pressed into the _Normandy_ crew. It was less Alliance as Shepard’s personal fiefdom, a mish-mash of other humans shanghaied into duty with Joker’s theft of the ship out of dry dock and the Commander’s close friends. The only regs they followed were the one’s of habit. She never enforced anything. They all knew their duty.

So, yeah, he’d flirted with her. He flirted with everyone if he could get away with it. He’d called her Lola, she’d smirked in response, and he knew it was safe. _She_ was safe.

The way Shepard was looking at him now made James feel very _unsafe_ , that smirk turning up the corners of her mouth as she eyed him speculatively. He remembered her comment, “The bed is harder than it looks,” and realized that maybe, just _maybe_ she hadn’t been just joking about it.

“Done,” the batarian said from behind James, moving to put away his tools.

James only had time to straighten from his lean before Shepard was shedding her jacket, tossing at him in a way that he was forced to snatch it from the air or get it in the face, and catching it meant he got a full view of her skinning off her shirt down to a torso bare except a black sports bra. The casual diffidence of her half-clad state was something he was used to--he’d been long inured to it by the women he’d gone through Basic and served with over the years--but the fact that it was _Shepard_ walking towards him and slapping him on the shoulder to move brought an unfamiliar blush creeping up his neck. She dropped the shirt atop the crumpled bundle of her jacket as he rose awkwardly from the bench, taking his place. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said, hunching forward much as he had and giving him a view down her cleavage even as he heard the order in her voice.

“Uh, why?” he blurted out, tongue-tied for the second time in as many minutes.

“It’s a group thing, isn’t it? When you get matching tattoos?” She shot a look over her shoulder to the batarian, who was looking on in incredulous disbelief and tapped a spot on her left shoulder blade. “You can do that, right?”

The batarian started and moved to get a fresh set of needles. “Uh, sure,”

She looked back to James, who still stood next to her hugging her clothing to his bare chest. “Give me your flask.”

“My flask?” he echoed stupidly, then feeling like he was too close, took a step back. “What makes you think I have a flask?”

“Because I know you do. Hand it over, James.” On auto-pilot, he reached into his pocket to pull out a cheap metal flask, handing it over wordlessly. While the batarian rubbed cleansing solution over Shepard’s skin, she uncapped the flask and knocked back a healthy swallow, letting out a contented sigh when she was through. “I’ve heard that you decide on impulse to get tattoos when you’re drunk, too. Since I’m getting the impulse tattoo, might as well get drunk to make it official. Wish there were limes. Tequila’s not the same without salt and limes. Close your mouth, James, your tongue is hanging out.”

His teeth snapped closed. “Is not.” She chuckled, a low sound that did funny things to his pulse. She wasn’t _pretty_ , not like Traynor (who Esteban told him batted for the other team, anyway) or Doc or even Commander Williams. Her face was wide and square, her hair a plain chestnut brown, her body--well, she had curves in all the right places but half a life of soldiering had left her with well defined muscles, but when she wasn’t in heavy armor she was dressed as she had been when she found him, in comfortable BDU pants and an N7 hoodie. Seeing her half stripped out of it made him realize she was female in ways he hadn’t really thought of before, and the frank way she looked up at him made him realize she knew it.

“If I’m going to sit half naked in a conclave of batarians,” she went on, as if they hadn’t just shared that acknowledgement, “I want someone I trust to watch my back like you did all those months I was in detention.” Her mouth tightened as the tattoo artist started, a bare flicker of reaction to the pain.

With a flash of insight, he understood her meaning. His gaze flickered over the refugees around them, noticing the way they eyed Shepard overtly and out of the corners of their eyes. Batarians all, she’d already had one encounter with one wanting revenge for Aratokh. He straightened his spine, tossing her clothing over one shoulder to free his hands and flex his fingers. “I think I can do that, Lola.”

“Good,” she intoned, smiling slyly up at him. “I’ll pay you back later.”

Despite himself, he found himself grinning back at her. “Oh, how?”

Her smile sent shivers down his spine. “I’ll think of something. “


	2. Lambada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a request from a friend of mine who wanted to see Vega and Shepard in a 'sexy dance'.

James watched as Shepard shook the hands and spoke to the enlisted marines, leaning an elbow against the Purgatory bar. He’d been like them once, naive and star-struck, and then he’d run into Fehl Prime, been there on Earth when the Reapers hit, saw Palaven burning in the sky over Menae. They’d lose their innocence soon enough, but for now, this moment, they got to bask in the aura that was Commander Shepard, God Damn Fucking Hero.

When she turned back to him after the kids wandered off, James quirked his eyebrows in amusement. “That was a good thing you did there, Lola.”

She reached for her glass to toss back the drink, indicating it should be refilled before changing the subject. “You’ve lost all fear of me, haven’t you.”

James grinned slyly, giving a diffident shrug in response. “Mostly. You’re still my C.O., but the pedestal tends to get knocked down a meter or two watching a turian and a krogan taking the piss out of you for a few weeks.”

“Oh, really,” she said, leveling a look at him one part amused and one part warning.

“Hey,” he said, putting his hands up placatingly. “I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

A corner of her mouth twisted in a wry smirk as she rolled her eyes. Polishing off her second drink, she put the glass back down on the bar with authority and grabbed his wrist. “Come on,” she ordered, beginning to head for the raised dance floor and dragging his arm behind.

“What?” he laughed, digging in his heels and bringing her progress up short.

She turned to look at him. “Come dance with me.”

“I thought you didn’t dance.”

“I don’t. Something Cortez said made me want to try, though. Don’t make me go up there alone, James.”

“Fine, fine,” he conceded. It was just a dance, he’d danced with lots of people before, no big thing, except he felt a spike of anticipation giving lie to the nonchalance he tried ascribing to it as she pulled him up the stairs.

The dance floor was crowded—Moreau had joked that it was people dancing because they were scared since the coup attempt and he probably wasn’t far from wrong—but James’s bulk carved out a small area for the two of them. The techno beat thumped into his ears, into his body, and he let the music take him, nothing fancy, but he’d been dancing since he was very young, first with his mother, then his grandmother insisting he know how to dance ‘with the ladies’, even if his rough and tumble youth left little room in his life for the type of women his _abuela_ hoped for him to settle down with. In the darkness of the dance floor, with so many other bodies moving about, he could let any self-consciousness slough off and just enjoy the moment.

Until he noticed Shepard and choked back a guffaw. “ _Dios_ , you really are terrible, aren’t you?”

She settled down to a simple bounce to the beat to look up at him. “It’s not nice to judge, James,” she had to yell to be heard over the music.

Shaking his head, he swept her arms up to rest on his shoulders then dropped his hands to her waist. “Here, before you hurt someone.” He fell into the cadence of the music, feeling it pulse into him and channel his motion, then tried to guide her into following through his touch. She fought his lead, transmitted through his hands with the sensation that she was just _off_ the beat, trying to dictate her own pace, but he persisted, fingers digging in where necessary to nudge her to the proper course. The moment came in an eyeblink, when he felt the surrender, the motions smoothed out and the resistance vanished, their bodies swaying in sync in rolling gyrations.

That’s when he became acutely aware of her, her hands laced and resting just at the base of the back of his neck, warm against his bare skin. His fingertips rested just at the place where her ass began curving away from her back, and on certain moves, her breasts brushed against his chest. _Will you ever make good on this flirting?_ he remembered her teasing throatily, flashing back to the day they’d gotten their N7 tattoos. He had no intention to, wanting rather to concentrate on the job, but flirting was a fun diversion, just as the flush of desire he felt now was. His eyes met hers, half-lidded with enjoyment, and his smile slowly spread as he let himself sink into the music, the moment, the rhythm of moving with her, against her, losing himself for a few, stolen minutes in the swelling tides of arousal.

The tempo changed, breaking him out of the trance state to discover her body pressed against his. Alarmed, he quickly released his grip and stumbled back. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, appalled by his unthinking familiarity no matter how much his body protested the loss.

Her expression went queer, James unable read any of the emotions that cascaded through before it shuttered, but he heard the clipped anger in her, “I should go,” when she pushed her way through the crowd and disappeared.

Blowing out a deep breath, James followed suit, but veered towards the bar edging the dance floor to find Steve seated on a stool, watching the dancers. “Mr. Vega,” he drawled, “that was a helluva performance there with you and the Commander.”

“Just showing her how to dance,” James said with false bravado, still upset by his slip. He signaled to the bartender for a drink and settled back to wait impatiently for it.

“’Just’?” Steve teased. “For a minute there, I was jealous.”

The comment took James off-guard. “Of me? I didn’t think you swung that way, _amigo_.”

Steve laughed over his highball glass. “No, of her. It’s been a long time since a man’s looked at me the way you were looking at her.”

A defensive surliness welled up in James. “Like what?”

It was a moment before Steve replied, more subdued. “Like he was enjoying himself.”

“Yeah, well,” James muttered. He slammed back the drink when it arrived, then spun the glass across the bar towards Steve’s elbow. “Cover for me, I’ll pay you back later. I’m going to head down to lose some money playing poker in the refugee camps.”

“Hey!” Steve called out as James departed. “How are you going to pay me back with no money?”

James shot back over his shoulder, “Taking it from Joker, of course!”


	3. Do you want me, answer yes or no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an me_challenge@LJ Insanity Round prompt

Thessia had been a god damn shitstorm. Not that Menae, Tuchanka, and Rannoch had been walks in the park, but that—that had been hell. There hadn’t been banshees in those other places, and their screams would wake James from his nightmares into a cold sweat that drove him down to the armory to wear himself out. Add the other Reapers and those Harvesters—no matter how much he might joke with Scars about them—and the part of him he almost never let out had to question how it was he was still sane.

Or her, he thought to himself as Shepard strode across the shuttle bay to the area he’d staked out for himself. She was wearing her dress blues, something she only put on for her meetings with Hackett, and she looked _good_ in them—until he noticed the haggardness of her expression as her gaze locked onto his. Not stopping, she closed the gap between them to annihilate his concept of ‘personal space’, driving him an involuntary step back into the makeshift wall, and still she pressed forward, into him, her hands snarling in the neck of his t-shirt to yank him even closer.

“Do you want me, yes or no?”

Her tone—a tangle of grief, barely surpressed rage, and perhaps a little of that madness he feared--kept him from replying with his usual flippancy. “Commander—Shepard,” he stammered, “yes, who wouldn’t, but—”

He didn’t get any farther than that before she was kissing him fiercely, and he too stunned to do anythng but be kissed before she released him.

“If you mean it, come to my quarters tonight.” Her hands went flat against his collarbone, pressing through the thin fabric of his tee. “I _need_ you.”

She whirled on her heel and left, leaving him with head spinning.


	4. Do you want me, answer yes or no (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The previous prompt fill and the burgeoning series demanded a resolution to how it left off, this story came about as a result.
> 
> How their relationship became consummated before the end game.

James was supposed to be in Shepard’s quarters, by some definition of ‘supposed to’. It hadn’t been an official order, but guilt plagued him. He was avoiding her, _knew_ he was avoiding her...and did it anyway. Instead, he wandered into the Port Lounge looking for a card game, only to find it empty outside of Ashley behind the bar, looking over the dwindling stock.

“L.C.,” he greeted her, hooking a leg over a stool to belly up to the faux wood counter.

“Heya, Vega. Get you something?”

“Mezcal’s fine, if you’re buying.”

She put a glass out and poured him a shot, watching as he downed it, put the glass back out, and indicated with a wave of his fingers for a refill. Her eyebrows lifted in measured surprised, but did as he requested, putting the bottle down decisively on the bartop afterwards. “You drinking, or drinking to get drunk?” she asked as she moved to dig a second glass out for herself. 

“Haven’t decided,” he answered honestly, looking at the glass to avoid meeting her eyes.

“I was thinking the latter, after the shit that went down today.” She poured for herself then spun the shot glass around on the bar, drink threatening to slosh over the sides. “Then I remember the last time I went drinking with you and Cortez and think there’s a chance I need to be functional tomorrow.”

“Yeah, there’s that.”

There was a few seconds silence, until she asked, “Want to talk about it?”

“What?” He jerked his head up to find her studying him.

“You look like you’re a million light years away. Thinking about Earth?”

“No. Well, kind of,” he corrected himself. “Thessia, man. I mean, the asari. Last thirty years, everyone’s talking about what kind of hot shit they are, and they went down like cheap dockside whores.”

Ashley snorted and muttered darkly, “Better not let Liara hear you say that.”

“Well, it’s true. Ma’am,” he added in afterthought at Ashley’s continued glower. “But if the Reapers took them out so easy, what chance do we have?”

“And don’t let Shepard hear you talking like that.” At James’s subtle recoil, Ashley asked, “Is that’s what’s bothering you?”

“No,” he lied. “Been thinking about my team. The one when the Collectors were hitting the colonies.” _That_ was a partial truth, at least. “This is a hundred times worse than that was, and some of them left behind wives, girlfriends, that sort of thing. Looking at this--now--I’m wondering why anyone would want to start anything with anyone. We could all die tomorrow.”

There was another long pause before she responded. “That’s pretty much the case anytime. You thinking about starting something with someone?”

He realized only after she asked what he’d said, but there was no good way to answer it without saying even more than what he wanted to. Clumsily, he deflected with, “You been down to engineering room lately? Every day is Valentine’s Day in there. I feel sorry for Adams, except maybe there’s him and Dr. Chakwas.”

“’I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most: ‘tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’,” Ashley quoted in a soft voice, then snapped out of her momentary reverie to take up her glass and down her shot with a noisy sigh at the end.

“That’s, uh, beautiful, I guess. That some asari poem or something?”

“Cretin,” she muttered with a hint of fondness. “Human. I’ve been thinking about my father a lot recently, and...things.”

He hitched himself forward, leaning his elbows on the bar. “What’s it mean?”

She shot him a suspicious look before pouring herself another shot. “It’s a small part of a longer poem meditating on the search for hope after a great loss.” She half-smiled around a wryly amused sniff. “Kind of appropriate, under the circumstances.” The smile faded. “But that quote especially is Tennyson, even when he’s the saddest, being happy that he’d had, at one time, the friendship of his good friend who’d died.” She paused, turning reflective, and curled her fingers under the edge of the counter in front of her, leaning into the heels of her hands. 

On a hunch, James said, “Who’d you lose, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Ashley’s eyes widened before dropping away from him, down to her drink. Swallowing that one as well, she took a deep, shaky breath, then said, “This guy I served with a few years ago. I was still a gunnery chief and he was an officer, but--“ She stopped herself. “I’m bad at all that feelings crap. I liked him, but I couldn’t get up the balls to say anything. Then, he died. During the Geth War,” she added in afterthought. After a moment, she said, “Man, I could really go for some pretzels right now.”

“Do you regret it?” he prodded, suddenly desperately interested in her response.

“Regret not saying anything? Fuck, yeah,” she said with a short laugh. “I miss him anyway, so why didn’t I just say something and maybe have happier memories to remember him by? Hindsight,” she said, waving her hand vaguely and not a little unsteadily. “I think there’s a lot of us onboard the _Normandy_ who probably feel the same way, one way or the other, just they’re not as stupid as I was.”

His heart was pounding in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, and he wasn’t all that steady himself when he polished off the shot in front of him and rose to his feet. “Thanks for the drink, barkeep,” he quipped. “Put it on my tab.”

“You’re going to owe me, like, a thousand credits by the time this war is over,” Ashley said, pouring herself another.

“I’m good for them, L.C. I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah. Send Cortez in if you see him, will you? It’s bad form to drink alone.”

#####

James bounced on the balls of his feet waiting for Shepard to answer the chimes on her cabin, wondering if this was really a good idea or one he’d regret the next morning after the mezcal wore off. About the time he’d decided that it was probably the latter and turned to leave, he heard the pneumatic hiss of the door as it opened and he pivoted back to see her in the doorway looking at him.

“James,” she said by way of greeting.

“Commander, I--” He broke off as she stepped forward, narrowing the distance between them, and he felt forced to bring his hands up to check her progress. “Hang on. Can we talk?”

She pulled up short then nodded cautiously. “You want to come in?”

“Probably better that way.” He followed her, eyes dropping of their own volition to check out her ass as she walked, grimacing with chagrin when he caught himself doing it. She had a nice ass, he couldn’t help it. She’d changed out of her dress blues into BDUs and a t-shirt and hoodie he’d seen only one time before, his last visit to her inner sanctum several weeks prior. The room looked the same except maybe some more fish in the aquarium, but that’s it. His gaze strayed to the bed and her comment, “ _It’s harder than it looks_ ” wandered through his thoughts, sending a rush of blood up his neck and lower, stirring his groin.

She was looking at him expectantly. “What’s on your mind, James?”

“What you said earlier, what else?” Spreading his hands out, he let them fall to his sides. “I wasn’t going to come up tonight. I mean, you’re hot, and I’d have to be dead not to want you--“

“But?” she cut in sharply, anger edging the word.

“But we have a mission, ma’am,” he said, suddenly finding his resolve with his own temper piqued. “And we should be focusing on that.”

With a narrow-eyed scrutiny, she wrapped her hands around the edge of the desk behind her and lowered herself into a leaning seat against it. “You saying I’m not?”

“Fuck, no!” he blurted out unthinkingly. “I mean, I just--” He caught himself, took a deep breath, and tried again after those few moments to find words. “I didn’t think we should be, y’know, foolin’ around when the galaxy was burning.”

She studied him long enough that he grew uncomfortable under her perusal, nearly beginning to fidget when she quirked an eyebrow, breaking the tension. “I hear you. But then you came up here anyway.”

He suddenly felt like he was trapped in one of those tar pits he once read about that the dinosaurs used to get stuck in, sinking into a thick morass of which struggling only made things worse. “I did, yeah, because Ashley--Commander Williams--” he corrected himself hurriedly, “said something about looking for hope in the losses and not being stupid.”

Shepard’s other eyebrow joined the first in rising towards her hairline briefly before settling back to their usual position. “Well, she got one of those right at least. What are you saying, James?”

Taking a deep breath, he said, “That I think I’d regret it if I hadn’t come up.”

His pulse quickened again as she looked at him, the predatory quality to her evaluation before she pushed herself out of her lean and towards him. Wordlessly, her hands snaked up to curl around the back of his neck, sending a cascade of shivers racing down his body as she used the leverage to bring his face down towards hers until their mouths touched. This time, he responded, a sharp inhale through his nose even as his lips parted and moved against hers in the kiss, his hands moving to cup the muscles in the small of her back and draw her close.

She pulled back much sooner than he would’ve liked, lips reddened and moist from the delicious friction against his, and spoke. “I know I would have.” Her words, her tone, made him shudder with anticipation, and when she gathered up his hand and began walking backwards towards her bed, he allowed himself to be led willingly to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Ashley recites is ["In Memoriam A.H.H."](http://www.online-literature.com/tennyson/718/) by Lord Alfred Tennyson, and thanks go out to the anonymous wikipedia author of the [poem's wikipedia entry](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Memoriam_A.H.H.) for the analysis Ashley provides--I couldn't think of a better way of paraphrasing it than that wikipedia author did, so citation where citation is due.
>
>> XXVII  
> I envy not in any moods  
> The captive void of noble rage,  
> The linnet born within the cage,  
> That never knew the summer woods:
>
>> I envy not the beast that takes  
> His license in the field of time,  
> Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,  
> To whom a conscience never wakes;
>
>> Nor, what may count itself as blest,  
> The heart that never plighted troth  
> But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;  
> Nor any want-begotten rest.
>
>> I hold it true, whate'er befall;  
> I feel it, when I sorrow most;  
> 'Tis better to have loved and lost  
> Than never to have loved at all.


	5. Love like that leaves a mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as a drabble of an me_challenge@LJ Insanity Round fill, it loosely fits into the same story thread so posting it here

James winced as the water from the shower hit him, a thousand tiny sparks of pain flaring as it dissolved away the medi-gel from half-healed weals. Gritting his teeth, he rode it out, scrubbing the cleansing solution into his skin in a hurried attempt to get through this as quickly as possible.

“Damn, Vega,” Cortez said with a whistle as he fired up another shower. “I know you got hit bad down on Thessia, but I hadn’t realized you’d got it quite _that_ bad.”

“Yeah,” James said with a shaky laugh. “It wasn’t pretty. But it’ll heal.”

As he turned off the water and started drying off, he only felt the slightest bit of guilt for the lie. He’d swing by the med bay and ask Dr. Chakwas for more medi-gel with a mental note to ask Shepard to lay off shredding his back to ribbons next time they fucked.


	6. Insubordination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fill that started the madness, just a small bit of PWP sexiness

James lay on his back, perspiration from his exertion sheening his skin. "That was incredible, Lola."

Propping herself up on an elbow next to him, a corner of Shepard's mouth hooked up in a wry smile, a single eyebrow arching. "You're not supposed to call me that, James. I'm still your commanding officer."

"I'm not supposed to fuck you, either," he replied, reaching out to run an appreciative hand down the side of her body from breast to hip. "Are you going to bring me up on charges of insubordination?"

"I'll bring you up on something, alright," she teased in a low voice, hoisting herself up to lay atop his broad chest. "You need to do a better job of serving under me."

His chuckle rumbled through him, his voice dropping low as well to his fervent, "Yes, ma'am."


	7. Jerking him off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several people misreading a comment I made:
> 
> "Although, in theory, he should still be upset with her for jerking him off Earth."
> 
> and responded:
> 
> "WHERE IS THIS JERKING OFF STORY AND WHY HAVEN'T I READ IT YET?"
> 
> Peer pressure at its finest. :)
> 
> NC-17'ish, if it wasn't clear. :)

He’d barely had time to walk into her cabin when she’d stalked towards him from the shallow pit of her living area, the blue glow of biotic energy racing across her body to envelop her wholly. He barely had time to brace himself before she gestured, lifting him off his feet and whisking him through the air to land heavily on her bed, just enough disorienting that he lay where he fell, stunned, trying to collect his thoughts. She was on him then, or near enough, straddling his thighs while she worked at the buckle of his belt, then the buttons, with him growing aroused at her _eagerness_ to get into his pants.

She stretched out along his chest to kiss him, his mouth filling with her tongue that swirled against his in breathless ardor, a shift, and she was pressed into his side, her hand sliding with sure confidence across his collar bone, down his pecs, down his belly over a sudden contraction of his abs at the delicious frissons rippling out from her touch, barely pausing to slip under the elastic waistband of his briefs to capture his cock in the palm of her hands, fingers cool against his hot skin. He groaned against her lips, hips rising from the mattress to follow her strokes, feeling himself harden to readiness at the fire, the _need_ rolling off her. A hand buried in her hair was met with a purr of encouragement that drove him on, skimming down her side to find a breast, to fondle the nipple a writhing mewl, but lower, trying to unfasten her pants got him a growling warning and a cessation of her touching him, easily hinting to back off. He was meant to enjoy it, and so he laid back and did so, moaning softly when she left his kiss-swollen mouth to nip a path down his throat, taking the soft skin in her teeth and snarling low-pitched and quietly.

He was full, beyond full, stretched to bursting and dug his fingers into the curve of her ass, molding her taut body against his side, against his hip as he thrust into her hand, letting reason and worry and _thinking_ wash away under the tide of growing ecstasy until he groaned, feeling himself come in a wave of euphoria and a powerful contraction of muscles.

It was a long while before he could string two coherent thoughts together again, caught up in the glowing aftermath of sexual release from so sudden a moment. By the time he did, she had moved away from him, making a slow show of peeling off her shirt to reveal a racy red bra and was following suit with her pants.

“That was…” he croaked, trailing off for lack of words to describe it.

“Keep that in mind,” she said with a predatory smirk. “I expect repayment in kind.”


	8. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (ME3 END GAME SPOILERS AND DEVIATION FROM THE 'CANON' ENDING):
> 
> The war is over, the Reapers have been defeated, they've survived, and the 'what next?' now that the reason for the "friends with benefits" label on their relationship is no longer applicable.
> 
> But not now. Later. Until Garrus intervenes.
> 
> (Primary end game deviation: the Normandy does not flee the Battle of Earth with the squadmates on board, meaning everyone is still around Earth. Trying to avoid any mention of the fate of the relays.)

James was field stripping his beloved Mattock when Vakarian found him. “Jimmy Vega,” Garrus drawled out. “You _did_ make it out of the battle. I heard you had, but I thought they must be lying to me. No way my old friend wouldn’t come find me.”

“Scars,” James said, a crooked smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “No time, all the autographs, you know.”

“Sure, sure, I’m sure your hand’s about to fall off for…something,” Garrus finished suggestively. “How’s Shepard?”

The bolt of fear-laced adrenaline was wholly not in keeping with Garrus’s casual tone, but that was James’s own fault. “I don’t know,” he said, deflecting. “Haven’t you been to the hospital to see her?”

“Why, yes,” Garrus said with a surprise James knew was feigned. “As a matter of fact I have. Haven’t you? Wait, no, you haven’t,” he answered his own question with sarcasm.

“Been busy,” James explained gruffly, hands moving of their own volition to put the mattock back together. “They have me in charge of the MPs around here, can you believe that?”

“Not really, but then I wouldn’t put you in charge of cleaning the latrines. I also can’t believe you haven’t been to see her.” Garrus stepped forward, and although his expression didn’t change, James picked up the unspoken threat in the turian’s body language. “I suggest doing so.”

“Or, what? You’ll calibrate me?”

“Something like that,” Garrus said, flicking a claw across the side of his visor. “Ask her sometime about what happened to Sidonis. Take care, Vega. If you want to find me, I’ll be on the beach.”

Vega watched Garrus go with a knot slowly tightening in his gut, then looked down, surprised to find the mattock back in one piece. If only everything was that simple.

#####

He hated hospitals. They reminded him of his mom dying and, later, his _abuela_. This one still bore the scars of the Reaper attack in the chipped paint and damaged floors, some rooms boarded up with plastic sheeting and duct tape, but otherwise, it was a hospital all the same. The casualties were still filling the rooms and spilling out into the hallway, but for the Savior of the Galaxy, they’d converted a former office into a cramped room that even had a repaired window. There was a blanket tacked up over it, but sunlight leaked around the edges.

“Hiya, Commander,” James said from the doorway, hands stuffed into his front pockets.

Shepard’s eyes came up from the padd to arch an eyebrow at him. “What, no Lola?”

“You said that before the battle,” he remarked, relaxing into a slight grin.

“I did, didn’t I. Where the hell have you been?”

“Not all of us have an excuse to lay around in bed all day.” The sarcasm was reflexive and covered the anxiety he felt in coming here. “They have me working. Besides, I didn’t feel right coming to see you.”

“Oh?” The question was asked a little _too_ sharply. “Why not?”

“I didn’t know what kind of flowers I should bring to your funeral.”

An indelicate snort ripped from her before she wrapped an arm around her chest to re-position herself, a wince of pain twisting her features. He found himself stepping into the room towards her, catching himself when he reached the chair next to her bedside. She threw a glance at him, waiting, but when he didn’t respond or move further, her lip curled in a sneer. “Roses. White fucking roses. The big ones, all showy and flowery. Because that’s me, through and through.”

“I would’ve pegged you as a buttercup woman myself.”

“Buttercups?” she asked with a smirk. “You know _what_ a buttercup is, James?”

“Well, yeah, I had cousins.”

She shook her head in bemusement, then jerked her chin upwards sharply. “So, come by for a reason?”

“Other than to clear up that question?” James felt anxiety speed up his pulse. “Just to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine, James, really great. Other than breaking half my ribs and some thing they called compartment syndrome in my leg,” her free hand drifted down to her left leg to rest on it lightly over the blankets, “which I decided it better not to ask details about and being laid up in my bunk for two weeks and counting, everything’s absofuckinglutely great.”

He winced, both from the description of her injuries and the guilt inspired by the tone of her voice, one part acid and one part recrimination. He wanted to say something nice, but he looked at the anger burning in her expression and fell back onto safe ground. “Sucks to be you. Ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “But at least I’m alive, right? It was good to see you, James.” Weariness seemed to take her in a blink of an eye. “I’m glad you made it out in one piece.”

The sudden dismissal in her voice took him off-guard, and he straightened. “Uh, thanks, Shepard. Glad you made it out, too.” It was right there, right on the tip of his tongue to say more, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, still. Instead, he asked, “Hey, Lola? Garrus said to ask you what happened to Sidonis.”

A wry half-smile turned up her mouth. “Garrus shot him in the head while I was talking to him. Revenge for betraying his teammates.”

“Thanks,” James gulped and threw a nervous look at the shaded window on his way out.

#####

It was several more weeks before Shepard was released from the hospital, and although James didn’t go visit again, he was waiting in the lobby as the orderly wheeled her to the door. Protocols hadn’t changed despite a complete upheavel of civilization as they knew it, nor for Commander Fucking Shepard.

She glared up at James from the wheelchair. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Someone has to drive you home. Admiral Hackett decided you deserved an escort, and, well, as head of the MPs, I got to choose who that poor bastard was. Can you walk, or am I going to have to carry your ass out to the car?”

“Yes, I can fucking walk,” she growled, hoisting herself out of the chair with only a flinch of pain and falling in beside him.

He slowed his pace to match hers, not wanting to make her feel any worse than she might already at the perceived weakness. He added, “Good. I remember the last time you were all good food and soft beds.”

With an amused snort, she retorted, “I still kicked your ass once I got out.”

“Only because I let you.”

“So you say.”

They’d reached the car , and James pushed her hand away when she made to reach for the handle, giving her a reproving glare before unlatching it himself. “Let me know if you need help getting in.”

“I think I can handle it, Lieutenant.”

“Commander, actually,” he corrected as she climbed in.

He shut the door before she could reply, making her save it for when he got into the driver’s seat. No rejoinder came, and he glanced sidelong to see her holding the flower he’d left on the dash, gazing at it in dumbstruck amazement. “Is this...?” she trailed off.

“A rose,” he supplied, snapping his door shut then letting his hands rest on the controls without turning the vehicle on. “One of the gardens on base wasn’t _completely_ razed, one of my guys found it a week ago. It’s starting to bloom.”

“It’s not white,” she pointed out, but the anger had leeched out of her voice, leaving it soft.

“Well, yeah. This isn’t your funeral, either.”

She drew in a breath that hitched at the end, letting it out just as noisily. “So, where are you taking me?”

“To your new place.” He pushed the button to start the engine. “Lunch will be waiting for you.” His jaw clenched briefly as he used the excuse of easing the car out of the port and into traffic to not look at her. “I figured we could talk, if you want.”

“About what?”

She was teasing now, some of the old warmth in it, reminding him of being on the Normandy, and...other things. “Y’know, stuff.”

“What if I’d rather _do_ ‘stuff’.”

He risked a glance at her and caught her grin, causing him to smile as well. “You think you can dance, Lola?”

“Oh, I can dance, alright. Although I may have to do it from one of those soft beds.”

“Easy, tiger,” he gibed, but there was fondness to it. He felt tension easing from his shoulders as he relaxed for the first time since the Reapers had descended on Vancouver all those months ago. “Let’s start with the talking.”


	9. Examination Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-game non-canonical ending, set several months but not more than a year later.
> 
> With the galaxy getting back on its feet in the wake of the war, James is the first to get through the first stage of N-school training, and it's time to test if he's N1 ready: against Shepard.
> 
> After writing the short fic ["Vega tries to one-up Kaidan"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/258684/chapters/633068) for the LJ Insanity Round, a friend of mine said _"Poor Vega. My FemShep totally took all the Renegade interrupts in their 'dance', so first she beat him, then Kaidan did here...I feel like your Shepard needs to step in and help him regain his manly pride."_
> 
> A bit of a reminder that James is not completely stupid and some UST on the side.
> 
> For more on ICT and the N-school program used as the basis for this story, [see the wiki entry](http://masseffect.wikia.com/wiki/N7).

James settled down on his haunches, his armor creaking, sweat running in rivulets from the oppressive, humid heat of the jungle, and did something he rarely did.

He thought.

Behind him, Kim and Chara waited. His squad for his ICT trial against Shepard, Williams, and Vakarian. Normally, he’d be testing against other accredited N7s, but with attrition through the war, Shepard was the only one available; her familiarity working with Ashley and Garrus was just going to make his job that much more difficult.

Think outside the box.

That was the hard part, see. He was a damn fine soldier, but he wasn’t sure what kind of a leader he was despite his officers rank. For as much as he enjoyed pushing Shepard’s buttons during his time on the Normandy, he was also pretty happy she was the one in charge taking responsibility for things. He’d seen the kinds of decisions she’d had to make up close and personal, and he wouldn’t have wanted to be in her shoes for all the credits in Barla Von’s bank.

What was the best way to approach this?

Defeating them wasn’t the point in this--no one reasonably expected a new ICT candidate, experienced or not, to take down a squad led by a veteran N7. How he handled himself, his squad, in the exercise were the basis by which he’d be judged successful or not. After three months, she’d gauged he was ready for this.

What would _she_ do?

Head-on, just like him. Neither one of them were subtle, preferring to attack a problem straightforward. Strength on strength. Except, overall, her squad was stronger than his. They’d get creamed. He didn’t want to get creamed. It had been three _long_ months since they’d come to Brazil (“because it’s traditional, and the service needs some semblence of its traditions” she’d explained the last night they’d shared a bed), and she’d seemed to take perverse _pleasure_ in teasing him about their separate quarters during that time. Even if he had neither the time or energy during the training to even consider having sex with her, the needling had rankled. He didn’t just want to do well, he wanted to _win_.

Time to change things up.

“Alright,” he said aloud, “this is what we’re going to do...”

#####

“Explain your thinking, Commander.”

He grinned openly at the pique in Shepard’s voice, but then flicked his gaze between the two other members of the board flanking her at the high table and schooled his expression back to one of sobriety. “Ma’am, I was thinking I knew my enemy. I knew how yourself, Major Williams, and Mr. Vakarian would fight, and how you would expect me to fight. Instead of attacking with my strengths, I attacked your weaknesses.

Ash--Major Williams is a damn good soldier, but stay out of her range, keep her off balance, and she can’t kill you. I had Chara and Kim focus on taking her down quickly from afar, keep her off-balance, before yourself and Sc--Mr. Vakarian could dish out real damage. While they did that, I went after Ga--Mr. Vakarian. He prefers to be a sniper, so getting in close to negate those skills seemed the best course of action. You’re the opposite, and prefer to charge in and fight from close quarters, so it was important not to allow you to do that. Once Major Williams was down, Chara and Kim could spread out and attack you with their tech and biotics until I took care of Vakarian, and then draw you in for a head-to-head confrontation. Which you did. Ma’am,” he added in insouciant afterthought.

The staff commander on Shepard’s left smothered a snicker with a cough behind a closed hand to her mouth. The glare he got from Shepard was 100% perfect. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the major on her right stopped taking notes and said, “Thank you, Commander, we’ll let you know the results of our decision tomorrow.”

#####

Despite being utterly exhausted and desperately wanting a nap, he leaned up against the wall outside the conference room door waiting until the members of the panel dispersed. The major seemed mildly startled to see James as he passed by, but the commander gave him a bemused smile that James _thought_ might be the tiniest bit conspiratorial. Shepard, surprisingly, was last, a good several seconds behind the commander and turned away from him as soon as she exited the door. He pulled out of his lean abruptly and called out, “Lola.”

She stopped in her tracks, pivoting on her heel to face him, and gave him a crooked smile. “You’re not supposed to call me that here, James.”

“I thought that was ‘Commander’ here, Captain,” he joked and drew near her. Dropping his voice, he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” and turned once more to head the other direction.

She was a terrible liar. He hurried after her, drawing abreast and pacing her as she strode down the hall at a rapid clip. “C’mon. The whole point to ICT is to train us to excellence, you can’t possibly hold it against me for taking down your whole-- ”

His words cut off when she whirled, grabbing him by the collar of his BDUs and yanking him towards her into the wall. Sleep deprivation made him slow to react, stumbling as he crashed into her and dumbfounded when she took his face between her hands to pull him down against her mouth. His brain caught up a few seconds later, and his hands went to her waist, partially to steady himself on suddenly wobby legs. It lasted only a few seconds, then with light pressure she was breaking the kiss, dragging his lip between her teeth as she did so. He trembled as she said, “I’m mad for losing, because I _hate_ losing, but I’m most definitely not mad at you. I trained you, after all, I would hope to fucking hell you’d put in a good show.” She shifted in her stance, against him, and he grunted with the need that flared up in him, causing her to smile slyly. “But I can’t let _them_ know how much it made me want you. I might have to recuse myself, otherwise.”

His hands moved, reveling in the feel of her curves against his palm, ribs dipping down into her waist then flaring out once again to her hips. “Do you even know what that word means?” he teased in a husky whisper. “Because I know I don’t.”

She smiled. “Shut up.” 

“So,” his thumbs brushed along the curve of her hip bones. “Does this mean I passed?”

“You know I can’t discuss the results of your assessment until it’s complete, Commander,” she said with a smirk, gently pushing him away to disentangle herself and twitching at her shirt to set it to rights. And then she said all he needed to know, giving him a pat on the ass as she made to depart, “Ask me tomorrow night.”


	10. Shift of Paradigm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little over a year after the end of the war, Shepard drops a bombshell that alters their relationship irrevocably.
> 
> Written in response to several people reading "Anniversary" and asking, 'How did they get from A to C?' This is intended as "B".

James hummed under his breath as he approached his quarters. It was _good_ to be home.

 _Their_ quarters, he corrected himself with a fond smirk. The first week after she’d been discharged from the hospital had been spent in the swanky quarters the Alliance had given her as hero of the Reaper War, but the following weekends had found her returning home with him. Until the weekend she had never left except to go out on assignment. That had been about a year ago, which he had decided was _probably_ a long enough time to consider them co-habitating, although given how frequently they were deployed--him as a glorified MP off-planet and her with the resumption of her Spectre duties--it didn’t feel like it had been that long. He’d left to spend the last six weeks playing peacekeeper on a new human-batarian colony two weeks after she’d left to do...something, whatever she did that she couldn’t talk to him about most of the time, and it was a sign of how far they’d come that he could admit that after two months, he’d missed her. Missed the sex, sure, but also waking up in the morning and seeing her pull on one of his t-shirts to walk around the house in until she’d had her shower, fighting over the bathroom sink in what was supposed to be single officer housing, making her breakfast because she was shit at cooking and she ruined eggs, _madre de dios_ , while she caught up on the extranet and shared the news over the cup of pricey coffee that made her human again.

His smirk widened to a grin when he keyed open the door and noticed the little things that indicated she’d returned while he was gone. The place looked neater, for one. Not that he was a slob--boot camp had drilled that predilection right out of him--but it was just that extra bit tidier than he’d probably left it. But the big clue was the emptiness of the electronic message board, the note he’d left her, a simple _’See you when I get back’_ , wiped clean. “Lola?” he called out, but wasn’t surprised to be answered by silence. Mid-afternoon, she was probably working somewhere or at the range or possibly the gym, despite the workout equipment set up in the spare room. With a tap to the back of his hand, he brought up his omni-tool interface and opted for the text mode, not wanting to interrupt whatever she was doing with a call, and typed out two words: _Dinner tonight?_

It was several minutes before the chime indicated he’d received a response, long enough for him to have shed his duffel and begun sorting the clothes out to be washed. She answered with, _Sure._

#####

Enchiladas verde in the oven, James sprawled on the couch with a baseball game on the vid. That it had aired a few weeks ago didn’t bother him--the return of broadcast sports games had been a major milestone in humanity’s return to normalcy, and as a veteran of the war, he perhaps clung to it even harder. Beer was another one of those little things, and he savored his third of the day after so many weeks of being dry, feeling thoroughly unwound and mellow.

The sound of the door opening brought his head around, chin to shoulder, but the back of the couch prevented him from actually seeing anything. “Lola, I’m home!” he called out, heavy emphasis on his native accent, but made no effort to get up. The couch was eating his ass, and she knew how to find him.

When she didn’t reply, he fought the gravity well to lever himself up from his slouch to locate her standing in the doorway, a hand curled around the edge of it. She met his gaze and said, “I’m pregnant.”

It came so far out of left field, all he could do was stare at her while his brain tried to make sense of her words. Once it had, it stalled out trying to think of something to say in response beyond the ‘holy shit’ and ‘what the fuck’ litany repeating itself and crowding out any other thought. The hesitation dragged out long enough that a frown began to drag down the corners of her mouth and furrow her brow, clear warning signs that he needed to say something, anything, and blurted out, “How?”

The frown deepened to a scowl. “The usual method, I suspect,” she said with an edge to her voice.

Anger rose in him, mostly at himself for saying something that stupid, but also at her mocking condescension. “I meant, I thought we were protected, that…” he stumbled into silence seeing the angry flash in her expression.

“‘We’ were,” she replied with heavy sarcasm. “But shit happens.”

“So, uh,” he tried again, then swore. “Shit. I don’t know what to say.” He didn’t. So much of their relationship was undefined and he liked it that way, but this…definitions were needed for something like this. Right? “TV, off.” They’d never talked about this before, but the way she was looking at him, she wanted him to say _something_. “How long have you known?” For a single, irrational moment, he wondered if she’d known before he left and just hadn’t told him.

Reason re-asserted itself even as she replied in clipped syllables. “Only a couple weeks, not long after I got back.”

Then he remembered to ask, “Are you okay?”

Her mouth twisted in a grimace, but some of the anger seemed to ease from her expression, so maybe he’d said the right thing. Crossing the floor to a position just behind the couch next to him seemed a good sign as well, her hands coming to rest on the tall back. “Physically? Yes.”

When she didn’t continue, he tentatively asked leadingly, “Otherwise…?”

“Look,” she said explosively, “I don’t think I can do this.”

He remembered the temple on Thessia when the gunship took out the supports and the feel of the floor shifting under his feet, the lurching, sick feeling in his gut that was a cross between panic and being unable to find his balance. Remembered, because he was feeling it again having this conversation, and the ground wasn’t even moving this time. “I don’t understand. Do what?”

“This,” she said, twisting her wrist in a palms up gesture to indicate...everything. “I mean, fuck, a house? You?” She hesitated, eyes dropping down while her hand neared her belly but stopped short of touching it, diverting to plant firmly into the back of the couch once more. “Seriously, kids were never something I dreamed about having. Kids are things that get abandoned on the street, forced to grow up before their time. I would be a fucking shitty ass mother.”

“It’s not _always_ bad,” he found himself saying, before catching himself and suffering a flash of surreal confusion. He’d never in a million years imagined that someday he might be looking back at his childhood as a positive experience.

She seemed to have a similar thought, given the derision with which she looked at him. “Your father was a sandhead who made you score drugs for him. How wasn’t it?”

“I had my mother,” he started defensively.

She cut him off. “She died.”

“I had my _abuela_ \--“

“Died.”

He clenched his jaw to contain his temper for her dismissive tone. “And my _tio_. Point is,” he said before she could interrupt him again, “what makes you think you’d be a bad parent?”

“Because _I_ never had one?” she snapped. “I hate kids. Ever since--“

She cut herself off, and he glared at her waiting for her to continue, but saw the muscles in her cheek bunch as she clamped her mouth shut and looked away from him. When she didn’t budge, he said, “What about the directive?”

“ _Fuck_ the directive!” she exploded, rearing out of her lean to step away from the couch. Whirling, she caught sight of the bare decorations of the house, the shelves displaying her medals from the war, and he couldn’t help but flinch as blue light flared around her hands, remembering his father, and a blast of dark energy splashed against the wall, sending the memorabilia flying in all directions. He ducked, but she was stomping out, slamming the door shut behind her before he’d even recovered.

#####

He was roaringly drunk when he felt the hand clap him on the shoulder and turned his bleary gaze on Steve Cortez. “You are beautiful, bro,” Steve said as he sat on the bar stool next to James.

“What the hell are you doing here, _pendejo_?” James turned back to hover possessively over his empty shot glasses.

“Bartender gave me a call,” Steve said breezily, shooting a glance at the woman polishing glasses on the far end of the bar, away from them. “Said you might need a ride home.”

“I’m fine,” James growled.

“Uh huh,” Steve said without a shred of belief in his voice. “I haven’t seen you on a bender like this since the _Normandy_.”

“Fuck the _Normandy_.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re drunker than I thought.” Steve turned and gave a nod of appreciation to the barkeep.

“And fuck you,” James continued on as if Steve hadn’t spoken. “Go home to John and leave me alone.”

Steve sounded casual when he asked, “Where’s Shepard?”

“Fuck if I know.” He reached for the shot in front of him and grew disappointed to find the glass empty. He made a sharp gesture with his fingers to the bartender, asking for another, but Steve pushed his hand down.

“Let’s go get some coffee and get you home.”

James gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “Shit’s fucking expensive.”

“I’m buying,” Steve assured him. “Come on.”

“Well, in that case.” James dug into his pocket for his credit chit, dropped it, nearly knocked himself out on the bar trying to retrieve it, and was sat forcibly back on his stool by a push from Steve, who picked it up and swiped it over the sensor, tapping in the keys to close the tab out then pocketing the chit himself. With a hand at James’s elbow, Steve helped him up and guided him out of the bar.

The cool evening air felt like a smack to James’s overheated skin, clearing his mind a little. He stayed silent as Steve led him to the ground car parked in the lot next to the bar. It wasn’t until he was settled in the passenger’s seat and Steve was driving that he asked, “Why did you come?”

“I was worried about you,” Steve replied simply, turning the corner onto one of the main roads.

“I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. But you don’t have to.” He drove in silence, and James stared out the window, watching the lights pass, mind turning over Steve’s question. Where _was_ she? They were almost at the small coffee house when Steve interrupted the infinite loop to ask a different question, “What happened?”

James snorted. “Why’d anything have to happen?”

“Because I know you.” Steve turned into the lot and parked the car, turning it off but not exiting. “Did something happen on your mission?”

“No,” James said decisively. “Shit was almost a snorer.”

“Something happen with Shepard?”

“Why do you assume it has to do with her?” James snarled, grabbing for the handle of the door and taking three attempts to get it open so he could spill out onto the actual pavement of the parking lot.

He was just clawing his way back to his feet when Steve came around the car to help him up, and James swatted Steve’s hands away when he did so, falling back against the side of the car with a heavy thump that the car’s body amplified. Steve answered, “Just a guess.”

James slumped and slid down the side of the car to land on his ass on the ground again, back propped up against the car this time at least. “She’s pregnant, Esteban.”

Steve started to smile but then caught himself, the expression turning into one of puzzled confusion. “That’s great news, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, is it?” James echoed. He brought his knees up to prop his elbows against them, then let his head drop into his hands. The pressure of the palms felt good against his forehead, and it meant not having to look at Steve. “Never really thought about kids. Never really thought about kids with _her_.”

“You two have been together for a while now,” Steve said carefully.“You haven’t even _discussed_ it?”

“No. Why would we?”

There was a long silence before Steve said. “You want to talk about it, or get some coffee before I take you home?”

“Coffee,” James mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Gratefully, he accepted the hand Steve offered down to help hoist him back to his feet.

#####

It was proof of how drunk he had been that he didn’t remember waking up once that night, to which he was perversely grateful. Bad enough he woke up with morning light leaking around the curtains to realize the other side of the bed was empty and knowing it wasn’t because she was deployed.

Then it was realizing the smell that was making him even more queasy was an unholy blend of black tea and burnt eggs. “What the hell?” he muttered aloud, stumbling out of the bedroom towards the kitchen to figure out what he’d done after he’d gotten home. He only had dim memories of Cortez getting him through the front door before things went blank.

He stopped in the doorway when he saw Shepard at the stove.

“I tried,” she said, dumping the ruined eggs into the waste disposal then tossing the skillet into the sink with a clang that resonated in his head and threatened to split it apart. “It doesn’t matter how often I try, I can’t do it.”

“It’s because you put the heat up too high,” he said, not for the first time, because old, inane arguments was safer than the alternative while he tried to make sense of what she was doing here amidst the throbbing of his head. “Cooking faster isn’t always better.”

“I don’t have the patience for it,” she said, and her hands curled around the lip of the sink.

Even as wool-headed as he felt, he sensed there was more to her statement than her abilities as a cook, and he entered the kitchen with cautious steps. “Lola,” he said, and her head came around to look at him at the soft tone in his voice. “Whatever you decide to do, it’s your decision. But I think you would be an awesome mother.” She snorted and turned her gaze away from him again, prompting him to take another step towards her. “Hear me out. Maybe you don’t like kids and never had a mom yourself, but if there’s anyone in this galaxy I think _should_ be passing their genes on, it’s you.” When her shoulders went taut and the muscles in her arms clenched, he added quickly before she could respond, “And you wouldn’t be doing it alone.”

 _That_ brought her eyes back to him again with a dark scowl. “So that’s what I should be thinking about here? My _genes_?”

“Honestly?” he asked, squaring his shoulders. “Yes, to some extent.” He put his hand on the sink near hers, close but not touching, and was heartened when she didn’t move away. “You of all people know how much we lost during the war. You _understand_. And maybe...maybe it’d help make up for all the shit we dealt with.”

“Nothing can make up for that,” she said in a low voice that nearly growled. “That’s a shitty reason to have a baby.”

He flinched from that and felt an unexpected prickle in his eyes as he looked down to where their hands rested, just inches from one another. “Then how about because I want to, and it would--I--“ He floundered, trying amidst the cobwebs to find the words to express the sensation in his chest brought about by the concept of a child, _their_ child, and how the pressure there made him ache. “You don’t owe me anything, but I really like the idea of having a child with you.”

Her voice was harsh when she asked, “Even if I’m a terrible parent?”

He ground his teeth briefly and with his head still ducked, looked up at her through across his brow. “You planning on starting to take red sand? Dump him on the curb? Beat him? Not feed him or clothe him or send him to school?”

She looked insulted and scowled at him. “Fuck, no, I’d never do that shit.”

“Then congratulations, you’re better than a lot of parents I knew growing up, including my father. Look,” he said, and moved his hand to just touch hers on the sink, not daring the more possessive interpretation she might have if he tried to cover her fingers with his own. “You don’t want to be a parent, I get that. I wouldn’t ask you to give up being a Spectre or anything. I’d find another job, one that could keep me at home so you could keep doing what you’re doing.”

“So _you_ would be the responsible one?” she asked, tone continuing to be hard and pushing him.

“Well...yeah,” he acknowledged, realizing that was exactly what he was saying. For a moment, his thoughts flashed to his own father and what a shitastic parent he’d been. But then he thought of his _Tio_ Emilio and what he’d done not only for James’s cousins, but himself after his mother died. He ran his other hand over his hair and scrubbed at the back of his neck with the palm. “I guess I would, if that’s what it would take.”

“And you think that’s enough?”

A corner of his mouth pulled in with a tiny grimace. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever done this before. But if my _tio_ could do it with me...”

She looked out the window over the sink, avoiding looking at him, but he felt her little finger crook and come to rest over his thumb and forefinger against the sink. “I’ll think about it. For you,” she said with warning in her tone.

The tension around his mouth eased, and a slight smile turned up his lips. “Fair enough.” On a sudden, wild whim, he asked, “Will you marry me?”

She snorted and threw him a crooked smile. “Don’t push your luck, James.”


	11. Comfort food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the me_challenge and with the previous chapter fresh in my mind, this schmoopy one came out at the prompt.

It was an utter bitch to find. First, James had had to track down a supply of chocolate. The farmers had started replanting the cacao bushes, but it would be years before they’d be producing. He’d had to locate what rare caches of processed bars still existed from before the war, packed into MREs and emergency rations that hadn’t been tapped. He’d called in about every spare credit he had and enlisted Cortez for his procurement wizardry to make it happen. Then he’d had to find someone to make it, someone with access to the equipment and the know how, because shit knew it was way beyond his skill. That had taken Esteban’s help as well, and he’d been grinning like a Cheshire cat during the entire process, having fun at James’s expense.

James tried not to let it get to him. It was for Shepard, after all.

He walked into the house with the cooler containing his spoils feeling a sense of victory not all that unlike after surviving Kahlross and the Reaper on Tuchanka. “Lola?” he called out.

“In here,” she replied, allowing him to track her down in the living room, feet up in the recliner and rubbing her child swollen belly absently as if it was bothering her.

“I got something for you,” he announced, pulling the container out of the cooler with a flourish and pulling the lid off to show her the contents.

Her eyes went round. “Is that… _chocolate_ ice cream?” Then with a jerk of her head, she looked up at him. “Did you think I was serious?”

“Well,” he said with a shrug. “Yeah.”

“I wasn’t, but…fuck, it’s chocolate ice cream, I don’t _care_. I’d almost marry you just for that.”

Startled by her words, he stared at her. “Really?”

Her expression quickly shuttered, but then just as quickly cracked when she smirked ruefully. “Maybe. If it’s _really good_ ice cream.”


	12. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired originally by [this fanart](http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2012/081/5/d/bambinos_by_mollusque-d4tmxhi.jpg) (safe for work) by [cuddlingthecthulhu@Tumblr](http://cuddlingthecthulhu.tumblr.com/) (NSFW) that crossed my path showing James with two kids. The kids and how I see him interacting with them is the only part of it I took away when this piece came about.
> 
> Slice of life'ish, depicting where I see my version of Vega and Shepard being roughly ten years after the end of the Reaper War and dealing with their kids showing the first interest in their parents' involvement in it.

“Papa, were you in the war?”

No amount of expecting that question could adequately prepare James, no matter how long he’d been waiting for it. He never knew when it was going to come, how he was going to feel at the time, where it would be, no matter how many scenarios he ran through his head as first Rosa and now David grew up. He marked the moment—she was eight, eating peanut butter and crackers after school on one of those fall days which was hot as hel—hades—during the day but would grow crisp and cool at night, he’d been distracted thinking about the training plans for the weekend and the new N recruits—then smiled at her even while scrambling for the right response. “Yes, _pepita_ , I was. We all were back then. What brought this on?”

Rosa swung her feet under the table against her chair, the restless energy of a child given expression in motion. “Andy Johnson said you and mama didn’t do enough to stop everything that happened.”

Biting back the retort that rose up within him took effort; he’d vowed not to bring the language of the barracks home to his kids, but man, he wanted to. With a silent note to have words with Andy Johnson’s parents, small, _succinct_ , words, he said, “Your mother and I did _everything_ we could to stop it.”

“Why don’t you talk about it?”

Simple curiosity. Innocence in the question. But he felt like he’d been hit by a brute. How to explain to her what it was like to live through those months, the horrors he saw, the horrors he’d helped perpetrate, the nightmares that he—they—continued to have, years later? How an unbroken night of sleep for the two of them was as rare as a male asari, even since the kids had grown old enough to do so, how one or the other of them would wake in the middle of the night and turn to the other, that they slept so lightly that the other would wake almost instantly, to touch, to hold, to reassure, the unspoken understanding that drove them to fucking in the small hours of the morning for something, anything better to banish the dark memories, that the only thing keeping them from being prolific as a krogan was the wonders of modern pharmacology.

He blinked himself back to the now; Rosa was waiting for an answer, and five year old David was now looking on, ready to hang on every word.

“It’s hard, Rosalita. It was a bad time.” Truth, but so far from it to almost be a lie. He wasn’t going to sugar coat it, but neither was he going to so fully honest with them that they inherited their parents’ nightmares. “How much have they taught you about it in school?”

“Some,” she answered, crunching on another cracker. “That there were some sentient VIs that attacked Earth but we beat them.”

Matter-of-fact, but lacking understanding. His throat tightened as he nodded. “That’s the important part to know.”

“Will they come back?” David asked.

“No,” James said with all the forceful reassurance he could cram into the denial. “Never. They’re gone for good, we made sure of that.”

Rosa dusted crumbs off her fingers. “Can you tell me a story about it?”

He should have expected it, but he hadn’t, not yet, he wasn’t ready, but there was no taking the question back once spoken. David was watching him hopefully as well, and James forced a grin. “Later, mestizo. Why don’t you go out and play, and I’ll tell you a story at bedtime.”

Cheerfully, they complied, running out the door with a soccer ball to find the other children on the base and buying him a few hours to find a story he could safely tell.

#####

David had fallen asleep shortly after James had described Wrex’s arrival in the STG facility, curled up on his side next to his sister. Rosa had made it to the end, but she had the heavy-lidded look of being ready to join her brother in slumber. James levered himself from the chair, feeling the creak of his joints from sitting for so long, leaning forward to kiss Rosa good night and give her a one-armed hug, which she returned with the unbridled abandon only present in children. She settled back into her pillows while James scooped David up to return him to his own bed, but was brought up short when she asked sleepily, “Papa, did you know Commander Shepard?”

He chose his words carefully when he answered. “Yes, Rosalita, I did.”

“Mrs. Linn says Commander Shepard was a hero.”

“She was.” His throat tightened. He wanted to say more, but held it back behind closed teeth, breath held to see if the slight deception would suffice.

It did. For now, he understood. “Good night, papa.”

“Good night, _mijita_.”

He put David to bed, then headed to his own. Sleep was hard to come by, finally dropping off sometime after 11, feeling old and responsible that he considered that egregiously late.

A noise woke him while it was still dark outside, reflex having him reach for his gun before he heard her soft-spoken, “It’s me,” that made him relax immediately. She moved through their bedroom in near silence, but not so silent that it hadn’t woken him, and he listened to her progress, identifying when she’d exchanged clothing for nightshirt--one of his own, no doubt, she always did when she got home from the field--then slipped into bed next to him. He’d missed her desperately and told her as much in the intensity of the kiss he returned as she folded herself against him. As her hand began moving across his back and downwards, he stopped her with a gentle squeeze of his bicep, trapping her arm against his side, and broke away from her mouth. “Rosa asked about the war today.”

She froze then tugged against his grip as if trying for a split second to recoil, a reaction that fled almost as soon as it was felt. Instead, a few heartbeats passed before she asked, “What did you tell her?”

“The truth.” He reached up to brush the back of his fingers across the side of her scarred face, feeling the bump of her cheekbone as he passed. “Mostly. She asked about Commander Shepard.”

Her breath caught. “And?”

“I told Rosa I knew her” He unfurled his fingers to rest them across her jawline. “But that’s it. She let it go there.” This time, her breath came out in a pent-up sigh of relief, so James added with gentle warning, “We’ll have to tell them eventually.”

“I know,” Shepard murmured, letting her forehead press against his temple. “But I’m not ready yet.”

“Neither am I, Lola.” He brushed a kiss across her nose, using the touch on her jaw to bring her face back towards his. “But when have you ever avoided the hard decisions?”

“Never,” she muttered with rueful amusement.

His body ached for her, feeling her warmth on his skin after so many weeks, and he felt her trembling, spinning the anticipation out a few seconds longer. “Welcome home, _mija_ ,” her murmured against her lips, her breath warm on his.

Her words were barely audible when she replied in deepened tones. “Are you going to sweet talk me to death, or fuck me, James?”

His chuckle was lost as their mouths came together in a clash of two starving people.


End file.
